


Candle in the Storm

by AdmiralGodunov



Category: Fate/Zero
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2809898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdmiralGodunov/pseuds/AdmiralGodunov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was said that when Britain was in its time of greatest need, King Arthur would return from Avalon to save it, and take his place again as king.</p>
<p>But Britain doesn't need saving, and, perhaps, it never really did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candle in the Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vyctoire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyctoire/gifts).



King Arthur would rise from the mists of Avalon, in Britain's time of greatest need, to once again take his rightful place at the throne and save his country. That was the way the legend went. The king standing solitary amidst the fae, in the untouched, unspoiled lands where no other human was able to tread, for hundreds of years, until his country needed him again, and then he would arrive with flourish and magic, sweeping across the lands to rid fair England of any blights upon her soil.

But Britain was not in need when King Arthur returned, and she didn't think too much about it because, perhaps, she didn't know. When King Arthur returned it was for her own reasons, her own fight, her own wants and needs, and she didn't stop to think of that hypocrisy, no matter how long she sat in that cold, wintry castle, biding her time before war again.

* * *

 

Once upon a time, there was a sword, a stone, and a girl who thought she could do better. She had been told she would make it budge when others would not, that she was a child of prophecy, and a true savior. She would be a hero to all. She would be the death of many.

She took up the sword, and became king, but girls could not be kings, so she was written in history as the boy who would be king - once before, and so again - and she pretended it didn't bother her. So long as she could protect her people, so long as honor was upheld and justice was done onto the wicked, her own feelings never mattered, and what did they know about it anyway?

But a sword in a stone, even made of the magic of Fae, never really was a good basis of government.

There was far more blood and suffering in the reunification of England than the girl-king would ever have admitted to seeing later.

* * *

 

Warm fingers wrapping around her hand never failed to give Saber pause, bright red eyes blinking into her own, twinkling with the light of the smile the woman bestowed upon her. Saber would eventually learn to like the smile... the touch, the warmth, but the affection was too forward for her old-fashioned sensibilities, so soon after she had arrived in an era that was not meant for her by any stretch of the imagination.

Besides, King Arthur had rotten luck with women, and getting too close to more just made her stomach knot in nervous anticipation. Morgan had been her death. Guinevere had destroyed her heart.

But the knot unraveled with time and patience and friendship, and just when the King of Knights thought she had found another worthy cause to become servant of, another oath of fealty that she could and would uphold...

* * *

 

_Never do outrageousity or murder, and always flee treason; by no mean to be cruel, but give mercy unto him that asketh mercy; and always to do ladies, damosels, and gentlewomen succor upon pain of death; take no battles in a wrongful quarrel for no law, ne for no world's goods._

Her country's safety counted for that, right?

* * *

 

Lancelot's helmet clattering to the ground, the black aura dissipating from around the mad spearman, the blood dripping down Excalibur...

The blood flowing over her hands, making her grip slick, as Mordred pushed herself further and further up the blade and raised up a sword for a killing blow, even though she should have long since been dead...

The feeling of grass, tickling and soft beneath a furry belly as she scrambled, indignant and outraged that the goofy old man had turned her into a _badger_ of all animals in order to teach her what it meant to be a 'good' king...

Sir Ector and his kind laugh, echoing along the stones of the keep, encouraging the girl-king to stand and try again, to haul her sword back up to position and prepared for another onslaught, for an enemy would not pause, but he certainly would, and there was mulled wine waiting for her when their lessons were done for the day as there would not be at the end of a true battle...

The dim, smoky hall, the huge round table, the warmth of a fire, the coldness of her future, the death of the girl they once called Arturia, the death of the great King Arthur, the death of the Servant...

The birth of the girl Arturia, the choosing of the King, the bloody, long, horrible battles, the razing of towns in their way, the pitting of her army's lives against the civilian's, and the lower classes found wanting.

Death. Life. Death. Past. An endless, maddening cycle, but through it all, King Arthur - King _Arturia -_ could only think of her country, her future. Britain must be saved. Her country must shed its bloody shell and come out the other side as pristine as she saw in her most brilliant dreams. Until Britain became Avalon itself. That was the goal she worked toward, no matter how many of her own she killed, and Lancelot was an acceptable sacrifice. He had to be. He had to be, she told herself. For the future. For her country.

* * *

 

Saber didn't appreciate being talked down to. Sitting with Rider and Archer, imbibing the rich wine from the King of Kings' personal stores, she found herself under fire from every which direction. Everything felt so flimsy when presented before the other two Servants, but she had to hold to it. No one ever talked down to King Arturia, but here, she felt small and young again, with older knights, scornful at her small stature and ambiguous face, talking about how she was not prepared to be king. How she would never be able to become a leader they would ever follow.

But she would prove them wrong eventually. She had to, or risk her country.

No one ever told her she was too young to inherit an entire country and all the many rigors and trials that came with it. Someone should have.

It came 1500 years later, at the hands of two far more ancient kings than she. It was never outright said, but she could suddenly see and feel the knowledge that the two others had when they laughed at her ideals.

She had to stubbornly stick to those ideals, however, or risk her entire existence falling apart around her.

* * *

 

People died when Saber went to war. To be most precise, people died when King Arturia went to war. More often than not, they were the people Saber was closest to. Her knights, her wife, her...

... Friends?

Yes, that was what it was. Her friends. Everyone close to her; her going to war was a death sentence, but it was all for a good cause, was it not? A good king was willing to sacrifice themselves and their feelings for the good of their people. That was the lie King Arturia told herself.

So when she found out about what had happened to Irisviel, she solemnly took it as yet another sacrifice on her route to saving her country. The memory would live on; the death would not be in vain. None of the sacrifices would be in vain. Not Rider's, not Lancer's, not even Berserker's... The Grail was within her reach...

Her hands shook around the hilt of Excalibur, hardly able to hold up the weight of that lie.

King Arturia would return for Britain in its time of greatest need, fight, and save the country, then take her rightful place atop the throne once more. Once a king, and again a king.

But in the moment the golden beam of Excalibur sliced deep into the bleeding cup, the power of a Command Spell compelling her to destroy the one source of her hopes and dreams, she never stopped to think, to realize, to understand what the knowledge imparted upon her about the world she was summoned into meant:

Britain didn't need to be saved. It still stood, proud and tall and powerful. There was no need for the once and future king. There was no need for the miracle of the Grail. History would march on to the beat of its own drum, and even the Holy Grail could not stop that. Could not truly change it.

Her country was safe.

But her friends were dead. Her life meant nothing. There was a country for her to return to that would not have her, either way, but it was still there, and her people were secure. Far more secure now than when she was king, at least. Her sacrifice meant nothing in the end.

* * *

 

King Arthur was to return from Avalon in Britain's time of greatest need. If she never returned, then that meant her sacrifice was never needed in the first place, wasn't it?

Or perhaps, it meant she was never really the king that her country needed in the first place.

But the Grail would never tell her that.

**Author's Note:**

> ... Two fic challenges and twice I get the same series in one year. Well, anyway! Here it is, in all of its picked-over-then-picked-over-again glory. I think I rewrote this thing like four times, and even still I'm probably going to pick at it before I hit the 'submit' button about a million more times. I couldn't settle on just one idea for a story, so I kind of... went slightly experimental with it. Lots of Saber willfully ignoring the fact her existence has no meaning! Because let's be real, she's set herself up for her own downfall.
> 
> The italicized quote thing was part of the Pentacostal Oath King Arthur had his knights of the round table recite. Paraphrased, basically, but more or less you get the idea.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story, fic-receiver! I kind of liked going a little more experimental with it, hopefully it doesn't read too disjointedly to you, haha.


End file.
